Archive for May, 2010

The Land Down Under

Saturday, May 22nd, 2010

While searching for dreadlock remover (imagine a little sad-face thingy here) I came across this wonderful product for use Down There.

Rid yourself of the unwanted grays and give hair down there a beautiful boost of color that’s destined to brighten up more than your smile.

Now my only problem is deciding between Black Cherry or Midnight Blaque. I’m leaning toward the latter because of the spelling. The hair on my head, or Up There I should say, is really dark brown, not technically Blaque. I don’t want to give anyone a fright.

The Down There business is topical because I had coffee with my sister today and complained about the word “rump.” I read in The Cut that Kate Moss shows off “her rump” in a new video. I was so upset by this usage that I nearly fired off a letter to the editor. Why “rump” for godsake? Can’t they say “ass” or even “butt” or in the worst case scenario maybe “backside?”

Then we moved on to the word “tush” which also annoys me. When I discovered that there’s actually a song called Tush, I nearly had a stroke. Now there’s a magazine called Tush. It’s a word to use with a two year old, like pee pee, but then it should be dropped asap.

Anytime I hear the term Down There, I think it bespeaks a revulsion for sex and body parts. The GiGi color product manages to add an Australian slant by calling this crap “Color Down Under.” Here’s an idea! Next time you hear someone use the term Down There, scream: “Where, Australia?”

Keith or Anita?

Friday, May 21st, 2010

Thinking about the Stones during all the Exile on Main Street mania, I realized that while most girls cite Anita Pallenberg as a Style Muse, I would choose Keith instead.

Anita is gorgeous. She got at least two Stones to fall in love with her, after all. In the movie Performance, she was sex on fire. But stylewise, to me, she was just a Rock Chick. Shaggy fur coats, floppy haps, floaty blouses, bla bla bla.

But Keith! There was style. Even if he couldn’t play guitar, he would still be the essence of Rock style. No one before or since has nailed it like Keith. Jimmy Hendrix was great but his style verged on costume, whereas Keith was just naturally cool.

For years, I wore one earring, inspired by Keith. Sometimes I still do, and it’s an old tiger claw, just like Keith’s.   Python boots seem like a wardrobe essential, because Keith wore them. Watching Keith listen to “Wild Horses” in Gimme Shelter, eyes closed and foot tapping in his worn out python boots, you can only think: Coolest person ever.

I don’t know why my style idols are men or women who dress like men. My favorite photo of Frida Kahlo is the one where she’s dressed in a man’s suit.

Wearing dresses and heels makes me feel ridiculous. Hats, too. And yet I am a girlie girl with a Girlie Brain who hoards lipstick, jewelry and nail polish. I just feel more myself when dressed like a tomboy. I’m drawn to men’s shoes and men’s jackets. When I veer too far from this style, I feel silly and uncomfortable.

Is it a power thing? Dressing up like a girl equals Trying to Capture Male Interest. It’s important to me to feel tough. Or maybe it’s a boob thing:   Do girls with big boobs feel innately more feminine and thus drawn to girlie clothes?

Or is it just cooler to be a Rock Star than a Rock Star’s girlfriend?

The Wisdom of Patti Smith

Thursday, May 20th, 2010

Patti Smith gave a commencement speech at Pratt Institute on Monday night:

I’ve been thinking about what I’d like to talk about: Moby Dick, the slaves of Michelangelo, Hans Hoffman, My Bloody Valentine, but now that I’m here, my greatest urge is to speak to you of dental care.   My generation had a rough go, dentally.”

Listen to the whole speech here. No one is wiser, funnier, or cooler.

A Cure For Shopping?

Thursday, May 20th, 2010

The sight of this fake fur jacket triggered my shopping addiction, big time. To make things worse, it’s called the Wolf Jacket. It seemed like destiny, if destiny were a voice in my head saying “Buy it, put it on your credit card, do it, do it, do it!”

In a stroke of unwitting genius, I asked my kid webmaster to stick my head on the lookbook model.

VOILA!!! It looks stupid on me! I don’t need to buy it. Free at last!

Not Better Than a Poke in the Eye

Wednesday, May 19th, 2010

Am I the only female on earth who doesn’t care about Sex and the City?

I don’t care about the new movie any more than I cared about the other movie, which I didn’t see. Who gives a shit about these awful women? Oh right, everyone. I tried to watch the TV series a couple of times but all it did was create arguments with my husband. I would start whining. “Oh god, eeoow, she’s so ugly!’ or “Jesus, how pretentious!” and he would reflexively defend SJP and the dialogue, both of which I found excruciating.

So, can I assume the popularity of this franchise is something to do with female friendship? Does it remind us how nice it is to have a group of girlfriends who aren’t afraid to say ‘clitoris’? Or is it just a fantasy about having lots of clothes?

Is it a comforting fable about how you can be super ugly but still considered attractive a la SJP? If I was ever going to respect SJP, I would have to reconsider after she denied having that mole removed.   She can deny that her husband’s gay if she must, but denying the mole is like insisting that we’re all blind or brain-damaged.

All I know is this: I have zero interest in seeing this movie. I hate all four actresses. I am mystified by the whole phenomenon and it took years for me to decipher the acronym SATC.

(In fact, I just learned what FLOTUS and POTUS mean!)

The only movie I want to see less than Sex and the City 2 is Killers, a romantic comedy starring Ashton “I can’t shut up!” Kutcher. If I had to choose between them, I’d just kill myself.

Something Different

Tuesday, May 18th, 2010

Tonight I can truthfully say that I’m sick of everything. Or rather, the same old everything.

I need something new to look at and fixate on.

I can’t take any more dumb idiots, dumb whores or dumb dummies. No more It girls or would-be It Girls. I need images and I need things to stimulate my imagination. I need things to hlep my brain work. I need things to hate but different things.

Here’s Martin Cohn, a boy who looks like a girl.

Here’s Gemma Banks, a girl who looks like a boy.

I realize that pictures of androgenous people are the only things I can stand to look at right now. I can’t figure out why, but I find them very relaxing.   Male models and homo’s. too. I’m deliberately using the word homo because a blog called Homo-something is about homo’s and the word “gay” now sounds condescending to me. If you’re a homo and you object, let me know.

Here’s another girl who looks like a boy.

See? Isn’t that more relaxing than looking at what some moron wore today? I found it at a blog with lots of nice images, whose author is either a boy or girl, I can’t tell from looking at him/her. You go, girl, or boy!

Oops, I found this there, too, so it’s not all androgeny there but also weirdness and some pervy stuff. That blog sent me to this one... where I liked this beautiful Asian-looking girl, or at least I assume it’s a girl.

There are some great images there and no one bothering you with their outfits or their Mom.

Okay, that’s it.   Who has some recommendations for me? Websites, books, music, anything to break the frozen sea within?

Tuesday Morning *UPDATE

Monday, May 17th, 2010

The firstborn Wolf is having surgery, so send him blessings and play nicely among yourselves until I get back. You can listen to his music here.

xo

~

* Thank you so much, everyone who sent good wishes! Everything went well and we are expecting a successful recovery.   xoxoxo

All Things Icky II

Sunday, May 16th, 2010

A few people have cited a certain blogger as someone who would annoy me, so tonight I checked her out. The thing that struck me most was her hideous collection of claw-themed jewelry.

Why the fucking claws?! (Somehow I feel this question woud sound more   beautiful and heartfelt in French but I don’t speak French. Can anyone help translate??)

Now that skull imagery is somewhat passe, the trend has moved to animal skulls. If I see another fucking brass bird-skull necklace, I’m going to strangle someone with it. Bird-skulls, huge claws, talons, just take them all away. Mom of Shoes has a monstrous claw pendent by the ubiquitous Pamela Love and so does every Clueless Goth Kid and tattooed fashion model a la Erin Wasson.

I was so annoyed by the claw-laden blogger that I went to etsy and typed “claw.” Try it! A huge volume of icky claw-things is available, many rivaling Mom’s $700 pendent in stark ugliness. I was particularly impressed by a store called Loved to Death, where I came across these “muskrat mandible” earrings.

And I realized that the blogger girl owns an identical pair!

What is the point in adorning yourself in stupid faux taxidermy? Why do so many people follow these trends? When can we go back to appreciating objects that are life-affirming rather than dead or faux-dead?

Date Night

Saturday, May 15th, 2010

Last night, the sons were both out for the evening and we had the house to ourselves.

My husband turned on the Jimmy Fallon Show, which was showing clips from the forthcoming documentary about the making of Exile on Main Street. We are both card-carrying lifelong fans of the Rolling Stones, and children of the 60s, so it was a real treat for us.

As we watched grainy images of their ramshackle mansion in the south of France, where the Stones fled to escape taxes in the UK, I was reminded of Gram Parsons. In a documentary about Gram Parsons, his time with Keith Richards in France is recounted at length by a narrator who notes that in the end, the Stones got tired of Gram and sent him packing when they decided to go on tour. For a time though, Keith and Gram were musical soulmates and spent all their time together, singing and playing guitar.

I said aloud: “Poor Gram, the Stones chewed him up and spit him out.”

Mr. SW took issue with this and said: “Listen, you can’t blame the Stones for what happened to Gram Parsons.”

Me: “Yeah but I’m just saying, when Keith got through picking his brain they booted him out.”

(Now, I realize that no one gives a shit about any of this. But bear with me.)

Mr. SW started acting like the Stones’ defense attorney. I in turn became Gram’s attorney. We traded increasingly tense arguments on our clients’ behalf. At some point I exclaimed, “Hey, I love the Stones, I love Keith, he’s my fucking style icon, I’m just saying that it probably hurt to be treated that way! I’m not saying that it made him go kill himself in Joshua Tree for god-sake!”

The show ended and Mr. SW invited me to follow him to the bedroom.

We lay on the new Sears Deluxe Firm Pillowtop bed and the argument continued.

Mr. SW:  “Oh poor little Gram, trust fund kid….”

Me:  “Oh god, why bring his trust fund into it! That’s not his fault! Look at Mick Jagger, he was upper middle class…”

Mr. SW:  “No he wasn’t, his father was a gym teacher!

Me:  “FINE, he was middle class, firmly middle class!

Mr. SW:  “Then don’t say upper middle.”

Me:  “Well, you don’t have to get nasty. You said trust fund in a nasty way. It hurt my feelings.

Mr. SW : “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m just saying that you can’t blame the Stones, Gram was big boy, he knew what he was doing.”

Finally, I started to cry.

Me:  “I love Gram Parsons and now he’s dead and so don’t be mean to him!”

Mr. SW:  “I’m not being mean to him, I’m just saying the Stones didn’t kill him.
~

The evening ended harmoniously. I hope the subject never comes up again. But Mr. SW has pre-ordered the reissued Exile on Main Street. Maybe we should renew our marriage vows before it arrives.

Kate Moss for Melissa/Anglomania

Saturday, May 15th, 2010

What an arresting image! I love it.

Can any of you smart ones offer an exegesis?